


Any Breeze In A Doldrum

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: So there was no reason to be stopping on the bridge and wondering how long the light had been burning in the bay windows halfway up the grey, austere building that loomed over the gardens, nearly hidden by the angle of the wall.
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Any Breeze In A Doldrum

There were times Vimes would swear the city had a beating heart, that he could feel her pulse under the stones of the streets. 

The most direct route from the Ramkin Estate to the Palace was across the Isle of Gods and Brass Bridge. The stones of ancient roads, polished smooth as sea glass by centuries met red rectangular cobbles, no more than a few decades old, with grass growing up between them. Lichens ate diagonally arranged paving slabs near the edge of the river, like a reminder that beneath facades of the opulence of the Opera House and the self-conscious quirkiness of the Dysk, there was a living, breathing part of the city that paid no heed to what the traffic would allow. 

Vimes did not want to think of that path as an artery, but the image had seemed to grow by itself. Multiple times a week his feet found a rhythm between his home and the seat of government. 

The Palace was not a home. Imagining anyone sleeping there felt like the conviction that teachers slept at school. 

In the rusty orange of pre-dawn, buildings were silhouetted against the sky. Vimes thought of Carrot’s description of Lupine Wonse as “domiciled in the domicile known as the Palace” and how the Patrician’s secretary appeared to keep nearly the same hours as that impossible man. Although when Drumknott was staying in the watch house he only seemed to sleep about four hours a night, so perhaps the illusion was being maintained in the opposite direction.

He thought of his wall of cushions in his bed with Sybil and the single pillow Vetinari slept with and wondered idly if his Lordship had more somewhere he could use if he had a head cold. 

Heading to the new Watch House on Treacle Mine Road from Scoone Avenue also meant crossing the Isle of Gods so there was no reason to be stopping on the bridge and wondering how long the light had been burning in the bay windows halfway up the grey, austere building that loomed over the gardens, nearly hidden by the angle of the wall.

But he did look up. There was always work to be done, but the fact remained that the Patrician simply had difficulty sleeping. That thought broke into the soft, indulgent early morning melancholy of having left a bedroom populated by a sleeping wife and child and fifteen pillows. 

Vimes had known deep loneliness in his life, the sense of having a community, but only co-workers as friends and watching many of them die. An unimpeded plummet away from knowing what it meant to be cared for even as he inherited the ranks of dead men. Nobby and Colon had tried, of course, to keep propping him up again, but he hadn’t had what he needed. Part of what was missing then was purpose. But the compass needle of his life had been run over the magnet many times since then and now aimed closer to true. 

Vimes forced his feet to turn onto Filigree Street. Toward the Watch House that had been the accepted item on a list of offerings. 

So much of his life these days was better than he could have imagined. For all he resented the trappings of some of his positions, he would rather have this life than any other. 

But part of the thread of his thinking had gotten caught on the brambles of the possibility that one of the people responsible for giving him what he had did not have everything he needed. 

Vimes didn’t think he had shut Vetinari down or shut Vetinari out any more than Vetinari had done to him. After all, he didn’t have a catch phrase that was the linguistic equivalent of a portcullis with sharpened spikes. But he remembered moments where Vetinari’s small, intense eyes had seemed to be pleading with him not to maintain neutrality. To come out with a yes or no answer.

Perhaps it was time he offered something in return. Or asked for something unprompted. Or even just let him know that he appreciated what he trying to communicate. 

For all the shouting and flintiness, there had been times where Vimes had been almost gentle with Vetinari in the past. Maybe it was better to just blunder into these things.

Approaching the Watch House, Vimes waved to Captain Angua as she left for the end of her shift.

-

It was the next morning that he had a meeting with the Patrician. He looked as he usually did. Vimes wasn’t sure how he had expected to be able to tell how Vetinari was doing. 

Then their hands met passing a notebook across the desk and the Patrician sighed silently. Sam would not have noticed it if he hadn’t been watching.

“How are you doing?” It felt forward, as a genuine question, but it was not as though Vimes had not asked as much many times before. 

Vetinari regarded him. Trying to figure out how to pin the truth down to words. “Contentment can be like the outgoing tide. Perhaps it will come back in again. In the meantime I try not to fall down on the rocks.”

“Any breeze in a doldrum.” Vimes wasn’t sure what he meant by that, except possibly a very oblique offer of companionship. They did not have time. They could carve out time, but how do you make that judgment?

Lord Vetinari had difficulty taking anything for himself. His primary indulgence was giving more than he could afford to 

“I’ve got two hours,” Vimes said decisively.

“I don’t.”

Vimes reached up and touched Vetinari’s hair. He startled at the contact but then leaned into it.

“That feels nice.”

“Yes.” Vimes ran his fingers through the black and grey. It was long at the back. “May I kiss you?”

“No, thank you.”

“On the cheek?”

“Okay.”

The stubble of Vimes’ beard felt like sparks, sharp and warm.

Feeling like he was melting at every touch, uncertain if this was a good thing, Vetinari walked around the desk so he was directly in front of Vimes.

“Your forehead?”

Vetinari bowed his head and shoulders so Vimes could reach. Vimes kissed his temples.

“A hug?”

Vetinari crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Not now.”

“I love you.” Vimes took a step back.

Vetinari was sitting on the desk now, wrapped in thought. “Thank you.”

Any breeze in a doldrum, said the north wind to the legendary ship.


End file.
